


A Ballad Before Ice and Fire I: A Change of Heart

by Rahul_Ohm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:26:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahul_Ohm/pseuds/Rahul_Ohm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the midst of Robert's Rebellion. Prince Rhaegar marches to the Trident to face the usurper in battle, as the rest of the realm awaits the word. Destinies of the men of Westeros forever in the grasp of the Gods, until external events cause one character to undergo "A Change of Heart." And The Realm will never be the same again. </p>
<p>Part 1 of a 3 Part Series.</p>
<p>This is my first attempt of writing any fictional story of any kind. Please Review</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

“It’s over,” the man in red and black ebony armor shouted, “We’ve failed, our prince is dead. He was brought down by Robert’s Hammer.” Others, almost thirty four thousand, dressed in armor of black dragon helms and red dragon cloak fasteners, or shaded red light Dornish armor, gleaming in the golden sun, fell to their knees. More threw down their weapons or the banners of their King, some even started to run southeast, away from the rushing river and the victorious army. 

_The prince can’t be dead. His prince..his future king, who was just, honorable, fearless, and humble. A True Man fit for the Throne. ___

The Old Guard sheathed his sword as he knelt on the grasses of the battlefield. He knelt between bodies, bodies of men, both Targaryen and Baratheon, and a body of a beautiful white horse with a bloody mouth and an arrow piercing its torso, now lying together in death. The river was pink on its southern side, his memory feeding him sights of blood and carcasses that painted the foamy white torrent that was the Trident. The battle was lost for the Loyalists.

“I have failed. I was his last guard, after Lewyn fell, after Jonothor..” the old man murmured aloud, but there was only heads and legs and bits of brain, no one to hear. The scene was grim, the battle bloody and overwhelming for Targaryen forces, realized the Old Guard as he knelt and reflected, almost as if in prayer. The battle raged on for hours, it seemed to the Guard. Prince Rhaegar had decided to meet the Usurper, Robert, head on in battle. The two armies prepared to charge another, and clash to a watery ruin or victory, the Trident between the two armies, as the seven kingdoms finally rose to the most important battle of the civil war.

The armies were on armored horses, and Robert’s was massive, with brown-green armor with embroidered slits contrasted with golden green gems shimmering, and the polished saddle, shaped for its large horse and larger rider. Robert looked like The Warrior come again, shouting words to his army, rallying them, with sledgehammer raised in the air, as they rattled, shaked, and screamed back at their Usurper King, Robert. 

Some words were caught, “The end of the dragon is nigh. They will bleed here with us brothers. This day, we will kill each other in the names of loved and lost. But they have done us wrong too many times. Again and again, destroying our families because of madness and fire and blood. Well I am MAD! And I have a FIRE in me!” A clang echoed across the Trident again and again, as Robert hit his chest with his enormous war hammer, “Now come with me and let’s slay this Dragon, his army, and watch their _BLOOD FLOW On These Grounds ‘TIL WE CAN’T FIND A FUCKING TRACE.. THAT.. DRAGONS... EXISTED!” _His men were screaming and shouting and some clanged their weapons to the clang of Robert’s hammer to chest.__

The war cries echoed across and off the waters of the river, causing a feeling of unease among the men. The Old Guard had looked to his friend then, Prince Rhaegar, as he trotted forward and turned his horse to face his army. Rhaegar had dressed in his ebony gilded armor with a unique addition. He had added many a red ruby, patterned around the armor. His gems glittered red-gold in the suns unusually golden blaze. On each shoulder, clasping the black and red cloak, were two golden dragon ornaments. He looked like a true king in that moment, on his black horse, ready to face the beast of a man Robert. The giant golden dragon ornaments and Sun, both, gave Rhaegar an unusual glow that made his silvery long hair shine blonde. Calm and humble as he was, he began his speech slowly, but intensified as he spoke, “Today we fight. Perhaps we fight for fire, perhaps for blood. We may fight for ourselves or for honor. We may fight for those awaiting, hoping for our return. _TODAY!_ Today, we fight for those men before us, conquerors and thinkers and lovers. For the South and for the North, East, West..it does not matter.” Prince Rhaegar turned to his last guard, Ser Lewyn Martell and the Old Guard himself, who had been with him always, and looked them in their dutiful eyes, “today we fight for the many o’ men and women that believe in our line and our rule and our values. The Dragon Kings! The Targaryens of _Old Valyria! Madness, some are plagued with, it grieves me to know and I know it too well. But our line has endured. The conquerors endured. The commanders endured. Men who have changed the realm countless times for the better. Those who conquered the unconquerable! Perhaps some of you cannot love a king succumbed to madness. Then I ask of you, one small boon. To give me, today, that duty and love that a madman cannot possibly garner. So that I may do the hard justice that must be done. A usurper is still a usurper, regardless of the circumstances. We fight to defend those Kings and their royal line. My line.” Rhaegar turned his black horse around and unsheathed his sword, the golden sun gleaming off of the rippling steel, and turned his head around to his right and shouted out, before charging Robert Baratheon and his army, “FOR OUR KINGS.”_

_He said Kings._

The old man couldn’t help but chuckle. It was so unnoticeable at first and only in looking back did the old man with the white cloak realize what the Prince had said, with the screams from across the river, and their own men shouting and calling at the Prince. In the official histories, it will be said that Rhaegar’s final words before he charged were “for our king.”

_Both speeches were inspired and, perhaps, they both were thinking on the same things. ___

As he knelt, The Guard tried to remember how he lost sight of his Prince. The charge was strong and fierce and the armies crashed together, in steel and screams, at the waters of the Trident. The moments right after were intense, horses falling into the water around him, a sword arm coming at him low from a Northern soldier, his own retaliation, the entire horse of the poor gallant Northern boy falling backwards away, and the boys entire arm, from hand to shoulder, spinning ridiculously in the air, blood spurting everywhere. 

The Guard had fought hard to stay near his Prince for what seemed a very long time, but Roberts men were overwhelming the Old Guard’s host and had encircled Rhaegar. Robert had not entered the battle, but once he saw his men had almost completely encircled Rhaegar, he eventually entered the battle and advanced towards the Prince, and his men began to fight a push outwards and away, leaving Robert and Rhaegar alone on the waters of the Trident. The Old Guard was fighting on the right of the giant circle of men, but the circle continued to grow as more of the men of the North, the Vale, and the Stormlands joined and turned their backs to the dueling Rhaegar and Robert. Somehow, the rebellious army still had men enough to fight around and beside their men that shaped the circle. Robert was shouting and cursing, but there were only grunts of effort from Rhaegar, but those grunts could have just as easily been anyone in that area of chaotic battle. 

The real chaos began when the old mans horse began panting, struggling between the screaming army, the clash of steel, and the corpses turning the foamy waters red. Every knight whose ridden long enough knows when his horse is pushing itself hard and the old mans horse was having trouble, whining and huffing, between the rushing river and the carcasses that were piling up, creating a sort of man made dam of death. The next swing that came at them was blocked by the old guard’s shield, but another swing came from the left, just missing the old guard's armor. With quick efficiency, the old guard plunged his sword in the side of the Baratheon soldier’s gut. The soldiers sword kept going, though, out of the Baratheon man’s now lifeless hand past the front of his vision. Chaos erupted as the Guards horse went berserk. First, the old man heard the scream of terror from his horse, strangely high pitched and gargled. Next thing he knew, he was on a bucking bronco, and it began running wildly away from the battle, and then turned itself, still gurgling, and went back to the waters and it span, and could not be controlled for anything.

The Guard remembered seeing a brown horse and a soldier holding a sword atop it, and a banner of a Stag with massive antlers, like on Robert’s helm. The banner was moving right beside him from the right, the Guard could hear the horn he was blowing, almost into his ear. He was clinging on the horse with all his strength. He remembered a different sword coming out from in front of him, left of him, even above him, his horse bucking and spraying blood from the mouth insanely, and his own insane idea of jumping into the banner wielding Baratheon soldier to his right. He remembered the crunching sound when both men toppled off the brown calm horse, onto the grassy field. He remembered his Kingsguard helm toppling off and striking the soldier in the face under him, but the man was dead, his neck broken. The old guard climbed off his body, his own frame weak and numb, but he fought through it and began hobbling, running, and trying to get back to his Prince, helm forgotten.

He ran towards the encircled fighters, parallel to the straighter portion of the Trident, where the battle met. Men dismounted and ran towards him, swords drawn and stepping over bodies of fallen Targaryen loyalists. 

_Their strategy was impeccable. Encircle the two men and fight outwards. Our men were forced into trying to breach a razor sharp circle. ___

The Bold Guard ran with speed so unlike a fighter of his age, his steel pointed to the right. The first man neared him and the guard slowed down slightly and, in an instant, flicked his wrist so the sword was level to an opening below the soldiers outstretched armpit, between the leather jerkin. The old guard pivoted with his left foot and span around the dead man, still standing, and pulled his sword out and continued running, all in one motion. The second man coming to him, quickly, was a much shorter man, so the guard ran faster and jumped forward with pierce of his longsword. It went right through the soldiers nose bridge, his eyes cross-eyed, trying to comprehend the sword shoved in his face. The man coming upon them was too close and so the guard continued pushing sword and used the momentum to roll over the dead man reeling backwards. The motion brought him to a crouched position and he stayed crouched and low, now pulling his sword out the second soldiers face and sweeping, taking out the legs of the man who expected a quite taller target. 

He heard the scream then, from men fighting a few feet away, knew the voice to be his brother in white cape. Quick as he could, the Old Guard finished the soldier he was fighting. The soldiers scream was loud, but Lewyn’s curse was louder. Between thrusts of his sword to two soldiers attacking, The Guard saw the blood flowing from Lewyn's side, a worrisome amount. The grunts and the vicious steel made music as the old guard and the Dornish Guard, Lewyn, fought off more men, these with the sigil of a blue eagle in flight. The entirety of Lewyn’s Dornish host had moved a few paces East to try to catch Roberts left flank unawares, but from the glances the old man had taken, between swords coming at him, the tactic had failed. The sounds of Lewyn’s effort were mingling with the sounds of steel. The Dornishmen recovered after Lewyn finally struck down the man he was fighting. The glance the old man took of the wounded officer, who was leading the defense on the left flank for the Usurper Robert, the sigil was apparent, but The Old Guard was only glancing between strokes. He saw three winged creatures and some other shape he could not make out. 

The whole left flank began to crumble as Ser Lewyn turned and began shouting orders, “You twenty head around ten paces and _Gah! _wade across, these men here are going to move up and engage the broken defense..” Lewyn’s voice was cut off, and the Old Guard figured out the wounded commander’s sigil when an anguished scream made him glance again at his Dornish brother of white cloak again, in between fighting. Lyn of House Corbray had rushed to his lord father’s wounded body, picked up the famous Valyrian sword of House Corbray, Lady Forlorn, and stepped in front of him protectively. All of a sudden the collapsing defense was rallying against the screaming Corbray. It was difficult to keep up with the rest, a few Northern clan men started to gang up on the Old Guard, forcing him to focus entirely on the dance. He could hear the sounds of a new charge building and finally a war cry piercing the sky from Lord Corbray. He knew, for he could still hear Lewyn’s grunts, the moment the scream came rushing to the Guards ears and an instant later stopping abruptly, he knew he was the last. The Last Guard. He fought harder and cut down two men with an angled swing from a diagonal pivot that went through knee, hip, and shoulder. He ran to the encircled men only a few paces northwest on the rushing waters of the Green Fork.__

And Then, The Sun Exploded.

Pure insanity fell on the battlefield. The sun exploded in a burst of golden light above them and suddenly, everything was blindingly white, the guard could not see and shouted out. His ears picked up similar cries around him of people clawing at their eyes and howling like wolves. The guard blinked and his eyes began to pain him, watering, and he blinked again and again. Soon, the soldiers screams had dissipated and the Guard found himself looking around. The golden sunburst had ended as soon as it occurred, the sun looking as normal as can be, but the effects were still being felt. Some who were looking skyward when it happened were moaning still, rubbing their eyes fiercely, a strange golden glow now shimmering behind him. The guard began to run again, but the golden hue resounded sneakily in his vision and was forcing him off balance. He tripped over a carcass and landed on another carcass, the entire world was throbbing and coloured in a yellow hue. The effect finally began leaving his vision. 

The Prince was only a few yards away, The Last Guard knew, but he was still on his knees and winded. He moved to get on his feet, heard a sharp shout, looked up, and saw a soldier of House Lychester loose an arrow in his direction. The guard tried to shift but it was too late, he felt the prick, then the extreme heat, and the sear go across his entire body. He did not look to his left shoulder, but continued to move, waving his sword broadside out in front of him, with quick flicks of his wrist. _“WAIT! STOP!” _a deep voice rumbled loudly, their voice calling from across the battle, but the second arrow had already been loosed. It hit him in the right leg with a terrible chunking sound and the pain was so sharp and the horrible throbbing feeling in the middle of his leg meant it had hit bone. He fell to his knees, the sounds gone from his head, everything was throbbing, his head splitting, someone was screaming _STOP STOP STOP I SAID _at the top of their lungs, but the soldier had already taken aim.____

The arrow would have probably struck the old man just above his forehead and would have surely pierced his skull and cut through the middle of his brain, through and through. In that moment, all the guard could think was of his Prince, and of the strange neighing sound coming from the left, growing so loud, his ear felt likely to burst. The body of the white lightly armored horse, his horse, blurred by and the tiny chunk sound confirmed the arrow had pierced the armor. 

_I was lucky ___

The horse falling and screaming came next, and so the Bold Guard, Barristan Selmy, knelt and pulled out his dagger. He whispered, soothingly, and drew the thing across the throat of the poor horse. He patted her on the head as it died there, blood mixing and coating the flesh of bodies Targaryen and Baratheon both.

It was there that Ser Barristan Selmy waited for the Usurper Kings justice. The victory cries of Roberts army echoed as loud as a monsoon and Ser Barristan caught shouts of delight and pride, “All Hail the Storm King,” one shouted. “For Robert! For Robert, Slayer of Dragons!” said another. “Victory at the Green Fork. The dragon prince’s rubies have fallen in the waters. For Robert, For Robert. Will they honor the fallen Prince or steal his possessions right here and now? More shouts from the river, a gruffer, and more powerful voice reached Ser Barristan’s ears, “No. Leave the rubies there. Every single one, ya’ hear me. This is their final resting place, a watery torrent, perhaps it will be strong enough to wash away the stain of blood on those red rubies that is the legacy of the Dragon Kings. They should rename this path the Ruby Fork, even if Green is a Baratheon color, ‘tis to be Rhaegar’s only memoriam, more than he deserves.” Robert’s voice was strong and powerful, much like his physicality, a voice of a true commander of battle. His men worshipped him like they would The Warrior, his sworn bannermen Ned Stark and Jon Arryn were honorable and just men, on their own horses, and with them, they had half the strength of Westeros behind them.

_All the Targaryens can hope is that Tywin Lannister is as honorable an ally as Stark and Arryn are to Robert. ___

It troubled Ser Barristan that Tywin Lannister had not hastened to King’s Landing to protect the city, when Rhaegar decided to march North. Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden had moved his armies east to Siege Storm’s End and the rebel Lord Stannis, while Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor aided Lord Tyrell by setting up blockades at the ports around the Storms End with his ships. Not that it truly did any good, no one was like to escape Storms End and no one had enough gall to breach it, friend or foe. Tywin, however, still sat in the safety of Casterly Rock with his entire army of Westerners, only the Seven with knowledge of what he might be waiting for. 

_And what of me, what will I be after Robert comes? ___

Ser Barristan was still kneeling, weary from the battle and awaiting Robert. Ned Stark was having words with him and Robert called out once more above the deafening roar of victorious soldiers and dying men. “Get Ned, Howland, and Martyn here your fastest horses. Ned, you can take that brown one there, that was Ser Lewyn Martell’s. Felled by Corbray in the battle."

‘Twas quite the charge Lyn gave the Gallant Kingsguard. ” Lord Stark responded to that, but Ser Barristan could hardly hear his voice, softer than the roar that was Robert. The Usurper nodded to what Stark had said, “Yes, take a group of your men, I want the other clans, but take Clan Wull, they seem the strongest and I want you well protected when you arrive, I still don’t know what bloody Tywin wants.” Eddard Stark’s voice rose as he called out for his men and Clan Wull to form up. “We ride to King’s Landing with haste. And I mean with haste, I will be there to meet Tywin Lannister at the gates of Kings Landing. For Robert.” The men echoed their commander and Eddard Stark turned and spurred his horse South East and to the King’s city.

Ser Barristan turned to see Robert trotting towards his direction, but he was surrounded by joyful soldiers and whooping officers, and one or two more serious bannermen trotting next to him, speaking and pointing towards the Southeast. Robert shushed the Lord speaking urgently into his ear, “Quiet man. If it please you so much, form up some men and capture them. Do not kill any who have surrendered their blades and yielded. But if one of them tries to sneak a blade on any of our men, kill them. Dornishmen can be crafty, be careful. Alright, let’s get this done.” Robert and his entourage stopped just short of the carcass of Ser Barristan’s horse. Robert got off the horse, wincing a bit and favoring his side as he stepped onto the grass. “It was a beautiful horse, sad to see it’s fate turned sour,” Robert said when he  
faced the lost King’s Guard.

“She is a beautiful horse indeed. I remember the first time I saw her. I was sixteen when Aegon presented it to me. He had just knighted me a fortnight past after I had a second mysterious night,” Barristan and Robert both chuckled at that. “It seems this horse and I grew up together, but she was an old thing. I have hope that she would forgive me for the pain I brought her this day.” 

“Come now Ser Barristan. You are a man above the rest. One of the best swords I’ve ever seen, it’s a pity you were killing my men or else I would have loved a watch.” Robert laughed and then looked down almost shamefully, “I am sorry it had to come to this, for your sake, truly. Come on! Get up, let’s walk a second.”

Ser Barristan rose and finally sheathed his sword that was gripped tightly still in his right hand. He could hardly move his leg, but he stood anyway. He sighed and shook his left arm to perceive the damage, a bit more feeling came back and an uncomfortable sting of pain from his left arm. He must have winced because Robert called, “someone bring my squire and a sewing kit.” “Don’t trouble yourself Robert, I will have Grand Maester Pycelle look at it once I secure the King and the Red Keep.” Barristan looked to Robert to see what he thought of that. Robert’s face betrayed him, “So I see you truly have no love for the Targaryens and King Aerys.”

“The Mad King. You know he must go Ser Barristan. Surely, your honor cannot blind you to the evil the man has committed.” Robert raised his arms and sighed, “A whole family built on dragon fire and incest. Well that’s bloody royalty for ya’. The old King made it easy for us to be heroes. We had a villain who was insane, merciless, murderous, and protected by every law in the history of Westeros to continue doing whatever the fuck came to his head.” Robert snorted, “It’s just like in the stories Jon Arryn used to tell me when I was a boy.”

Ser Barristan took in this man who led a rebellion for a woman and vengeance, the Bold Guard did not know which force truly fueled his heart, “And what are you now, Lord Robert?”

Robert did not answer at first, but he did not look annoyed, he looked to be dreaming standing there looking out over the grassy plains of the Riverlands, beautiful in the strange gold sun. They stood there in silence for a time until Robert spoke up, “Well I suppose I am King. It must be my responsibility to pick up the pieces of all the damage my rebellion has caused the realm. Never again will the realm be handed to those who can wake up mad from there incentuous birth at the flip of a coin.” Robert gave Ser Barristan a sharp look, “Is that not a just cause, Ser?”

Ser Barristan did not need to answer that question, the answer was plain on Robert’s face and etched on his own as well “What of the house that has been quiet in all this, what of the Lions of Lannister?” Barristan had to ask, to see if Robert knew. Ser Barristan’s fears were confirmed from the look on Robert’s face. “He was never going to fight for the Dragon, he already expressed his desire to aid our rebellion. Ned doesn't trust him because he plans to storm King’s Landing and arrest the last Targaryens. Ned thinks he is going to betray our cause so he’s taken Howland Reed and Martyn Cassel and others down the Kings Road with all the haste in the world. They ride to King’s Landing, picking up isolated soldiers from our own cause to protect the Red Keep from just the things you fear. Last I know from a fortnight ago, Tywin Lannister’s army is formed up in the Westerlands outside Casterly Rock, but has not marched yet. I promise you Ser Barristan, my first plan of action is to protect Kings Landing from suffering more atrocities, from the Targaryen side and mine own side. Tywin will not reach the Lion’s Gate before Eddard Stark sees the castle with his own eyes, I promise you.”

_That is likely to change, once Rhaegar, Lewyn and I left with our armies, Tywin probably began his march. But to what end? Is Robert correct? ___

Ser Barristan frowned from the implications, “If what you say is true then, the war is over and the Targaryens doomed. How can I serve a King who trusts in the loyalty of a cold, dishonorable man as Tywin Lannister. He served twenty years under Aerys.” Robert was frowning now as well, “I never said I trust him. I know the legacy of Tywin Lannister, the man told his father off for being weak at the age of bloody twelve. He is proud but not trustworthy. Ser Barristan, Tywin Lannister is not a man I call brother. You know the men I keep company. Ned Stark, Hoster Tully, Jon Arryn, and my true brothers are just men, these men are my friends and they are loyal to me, ready to help me rule, not men such as Tywin Lannister. You are a member of a Kingsguard that has no King, he forfeit his claim to rule the moment he started killing his own bannermen. If you believe that I will rule justly under the advisement of better men than myself, you included, perhaps I can carve a legacy of peace and bring the entire realm to order once again." Robert was looking him dead in the eye, "I don't know what King I'll be, but I know that I will better King Aerys the Mad."

Robert stepped forward and clasped Ser Barristan’s right shoulder, “Can you follow a King such as that? Can you protect him with your life and follow him in all his decisions?”

Ser Barristan knew then that this man was much more humble than who he seemed from afar, his strength unmatched, and his friends true to the ideals of honorable men, Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully proved their skill in battle today and their ideals in the aftermath of the battle. Starks first thoughts were to the safety of Kings Landing. King Aerys II was insane, there was no denying it, but his vows weighed heavy in his heart. Now his King was fallen, everything he was and had, now ashes. 

Tywin cannot be so cruel.. it is not honourable but I can only decide once I look upon the Capital City once more.

Ser Barristan Selmy kneeled and unsheathed his sword and placed it across his knee. “I vow to protect you, to stand guard in your name, to fight for your honor, and to die for you if need be. All this I swear to you, Your Grace and my King.” 

“Then rise, Ser Barristan Selmy, rise, first of my Kingsguard. Rise from the ashes of Dragonfire and ride with the Storm King, come again.”


	2. JAIME

The Iron Throne. Years and years of history. Years of blood and sweat o’er the Seven Kingdoms, and now finally, molded into a Grand Throne for the King of Westeros. The hundred or so swords, some held by great men and others by terribly cruel men, were now one, raised above them all. The Iron Throne had a certain allure to it as it sat there waiting... with skulls of Dragons the size of a whole mammoths raised on either side, watching with no eyes. 

“Every Throne needs a King to sit upon it,” Jaime told the old wrinkly body on the floor in front of him. He stepped over it as casually as he would a rock in his way. 

_The old Mad King smells like he is beginning to rot already._

His throat was a red gash, blood still bubbling out where Jaime had sliced him open. A quick stroke, worthy of a King such as this. The silver in the Dead King’s wispy hair was wet with blood, as was his fiery great doublet, the color of flames mixing with bloody red. Jaime would never forget that sweet moment. He replayed the scene in his head over and over again, the repetition of the instant made it seem less absurd. He remembered as the Dead King fell, Jaime had reached out, to do ..something, Jaime was not even sure what.

The incredible part had been the crown which had to have been loosened on Aerys temple in his haste to get to Jaime once Lord Rossart was dead. The momentum of Jaime’s vicious slice made the crown fly upwards, but as he grabbed at Aerys with his left hand, the crown landed perfectly upon his index finger, outstretched to where Aerys had been, now on the ground bleeding between Jaime and the Throne. And there Ser Jaime Lannister, Kingsguard and son of the Mighty Tywin of Casterly Rock stood, sword pointed downwards, towards the pool of blood coating the tiles, legs inches apart, a crown resting upon his outstretched finger, the Guard who forsake his King. He stood there in the pose for what felt like hours. Jaime finally broke free of the loop inside his head and took in the emptiness of the Great Hall. We will need a successor to the Throne, it seems. 

_Too bad about Rhaegar._

“But what happens when there is no living King in sight. Who rules then?” Jaime said to no one in particular. Jaime turned to look at the man who had been his King, the man he swore to protect with his own life. The irony of the situation made Jamie think of his brother Tyrion. 

_Would Tyrion congratulate me now, if he saw me? Or condemn me? Jaime did not know._

He knew what Cersei would do. She would smile and laugh and grab his cock and they would go on for hours, right next to the rotting corpse of Aerys, until the fighting was done and they all found them there, naked as their name day. Jaime wouldn’t have cared the slightest if the realm knew of their love. He was tired of hiding his love for Cersei. There was a highborn bastard in almost every city in Westeros, but all Jaime needed was Cersei. His sister, his twin, his lover. Jaime thought of his talk with Cersei of children then, and his future lineage. And of the Targaryens and their vow to breed with only other pureblood Targaryens. We would be the next true bloodline, a better bloodline. To hell with dragons and wildfire, a lion tames his enemies or destroys them if they will not learn. We would be a hundred times better than the Targaryens. A wild feeling rushed through Jaime’s body as a million thoughts rushed to his head at once and all of a sudden he was walking up the steps, one by one, not even aware of what he was doing. When he reached the final step to the Throne he turned once more to the broken body of Aerys. “No more fire. No more murder. No more madness.”

He sat down on the most powerful seat in the world and exhaled slowly, his eyes closed. Peace. At last. The silence was sweet and went on for almost an eternity. Jaime sat there, his eyes closed, faint sounds such as clashes of steel unheard to him. It was a perfect moment, a perfect feeling, and it was all perfect until it was broken by a large screeching sound from the other end of the hall.

The magnificent Giant Doors of the Great Hall which housed the Iron Throne were said to be some of the largest doors ever built by man. Only a few other doors had rivaled the enormity of the Giant Doors, one of them was in Qarth near Asshai By-the Shadow or, at least, that is what Jaime remembered from what his father had told him. The Doors rose up to almost the ceiling of the Great Hall, stopping only several feet before the arched ceiling connected to the Entrance of the Great Hall. The Doors were always open because of the strength needed to even budge them. Only in times of great peril, like this day, were they permitted to be closed. Armies usually needed three or four soldiers to be able to open the doors, so they could get to the King who stayed to protect his own Keep. When the screeching stopped and the doors were open, a single, lone man walked through. 

_Not Father, Not Clegane, Not even a fucking Lannister._

The man with the grey cloak walked closer to Jaime, each step echoing like a hammer knocking against a wall, and stopped right in front of the steps to the Throne where Jamie sat. For a while he said nothing, his cool grey eyes burning daggers into Jaime. As Jaime sat there, he felt anger growing in the pit of his stomach. _Or am I just hungry?_ Jaime laughed aloud. When Jaime had quite finished, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Protector of the North, opened his goddamned honorable mouth and said only two words.

“Get Up.”

A smile crept up on Jaime slowly as he sat unnaturally still almost as if he was a statue, Eddard Stark grunted and unsheathed Ice.

_I probably should get up, yes, I should get up._

The sound of Ice coming out of the sheath echoed through the Great Hall, a clean, satisfying unsheathing. He repeated himself. “In the name of our leader and my true King Robert Baratheon, The First Of His Name, get up off the Throne.” Jaime shifted uncomfortably on the Iron Throne that was starting to make his rump ache. _Uncomfortable as the stories but I suppose it keeps a man alert._

_Stark better stop staring at me like that._

Jaime finally gave up and looked Eddard Stark in his honest, cold eyes. “Oh Eddard i really would love to, but I have just recently been acquainted with my friend over her,” Jaime pointed backwards in the direction of the thousands of swords shooting out of the Throne on which he sat, “And I'd hate to leave during our friends time of mourning, he is lonely you know?” Eddard looked away in disgust, then down to where Aerys lay bleeding.

“You sound almost as mad as the last true King who sat on that Throne, Jaime Lannister.” 

Eddard gestured down to the corpse, “If you are to come down from that chair right now, I won't tell Robert of what you have done.” Eddard was talking to Jaime in a way that Jaime had only heard from his Uncle Kevan, trying to make Cersei and Jaime understand, whenever Father had scolded them. “The Targaryens still have heirs to the Throne. Robert will do the right thing, in time, and you have no right to the Throne.”

Jaime laughed again, “You obviously have never met my father Stark, he’s not the sort of man that allows a Madman and his entire house to do whatever the fuck they want because they have all the power.” Jaime brought his heels right up against the Iron swords at the bottom of the Throne.” _Soon._ “Robert never said he was King, he only said all Targaryens are the enemy. It seems you should be the one apologizing Stark,” Jaime pointed towards Aerys, “I’ve done my part.”

He was about to rise when all the light in the Throne room brightened intensely. The sun exploded, it seemed, as it did the last morn when Jaime knew Prince Rhaegar had reached the Trident, by all winds, and faced Lord Robert, and it shone golden light into the Throne room, like a hundred golden waves of water, again like before when Aerys shouted out and screamed at the light, shimmering in the air. Jaime and Eddard were blinded by the bright shine that could never have been so powerful. Jaime gasped to himself as goosebumps rose all over his body and a cool shiver went through his body. He felt these feelings before, as if Cersei had dressed up as an innocent highborn maiden when they would play their naughty games. Jaime looked down and watched the gold mix with Aerys blood, almost a lion of light dancing upon the corpse of Aerys the Mad.

Jaime, as quick as a panther, stood up, but then as to mock him, took his merry time down the steps toward the man who stood in his way, the golden burst receding to normal, his eyes adjusting quickly. “Stark, you honorable fool, you don't understand. Lannister Gold and Aerys drying crimson... and I've been itching for a fight since Rhaegar left me here to guard his poor old father.”

Jamie unsheathed his blade, Kingsguard steel. Ned Stark looked at him, grimaced, but with the skill worthy of Barristan the Bold, positioned himself diagonally, right leg put forward, Ice pointed down in front of most of Starks body. Jaime couldn't help but be impressed by the strength of Ned Stark, the sword he held was Valyrian steel and a greatsword at that. A rather large greatsword. “Oh, no... no I think I understand just fine.” Eddard looked at him and Jaime saw the Wall in his eyes, the white snow of the North, and Jaime saw the wolf deep beneath those eyes. Not a hungry wolf, like his brother. This was the look of a man who was doing his duty for his rightful King.

Eddard yelled and charged at Jaime. The sound of metal rang across the walls of the Great Hall with grunts from both men. Jaime was faster, that much was sure, but Stark was steady with his sword and had no trouble parrying. Once or twice, he was able to strike back but Jaime had all the room to jump back. Jaime immediately began to enjoy this fight. 

_This will be long and much more satisfying than that old lout of a King._

Stark was better than Jaime anticipated but Jaime was more than a natural at sword play. The Kingsguard had many names that were now famed across Westeros. Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and even one or two Targaryens. Jaime had hoped his skills to be honored a place with those names. Stark was a different sort of beast though. He would wait until Jaime’s strikes so often that Jaime would get a little bored until, out of the blue, Stark would strike at a leg, or perhaps, a shoulder. Once, Jaime had a small scare when Stark actually struck his right shoulder, his shoulder guard splintering and leaving an opening, but Jaime protected his side more fiercely and Stark never got close again. Jaime was able to nick a little cut on the right side of Starks cheek. Stark grimaced but didn't even flinch, continuing the fight with an almost beastly endurance. 

_He is a smart fighter, but he is losing strength with every passing minute. Soon he will fall. Come Stark, Again. One step, two step. Slice. Forward. Thrust. One step, two step. Left. Parry. Step. Thrust. And Again._

Jaime could not help but notice that Stark was holding back, his sword easily could have sliced through Jaime’s Kingsguard steel but with each opportunity, Stark never took it. His attacks seemed to hold the idea of only tiring and lightly injuring Jaime. 

He’s trying to draw this out until Robert arrives, how thick.

The sound of fighting alerted more men, outside the door. Stark Men. They began to file in through the Great Doors, weapons drawn. Howland Reed with his net and spear, Martyn Cassel; loyal as always, great-sword in hand, Lord Dustin who had led a van during a nasty wildling rebellion, the biggest the north had ever seen, Ethan Glover who was supposed to be locked in a dungeon far under the Red Keep, some Savage who was probably part of a clan from the North, and young Mark Ryswell who was knighted only last year.

Both Stark and Jaime stop in their tracks and looked at the six men who entered the Great Hall. 

_I fought with many of these men during melees and contests, but those were just games and things are looking much more interesting now. It seems the rules have changed._

“Looks as if we have guests, I'm very sorry, I didn't expect you fine Northern folk. Isn't it warm for you? I expect most of you burn up with a fever without snow up to your knees? Could i offer you a beverage? Water, nectre of apple, some spiced wine perhaps? I'm sure I can find a Dornish Red or a Harbour White, somewhere, with no King’s blood on it. ” 

Even when in the midst of a battle of life and death, Jaime still had the energy to laugh at his own crude quip. Stark looked much more the wearier than Jaime felt, Jaime suspected Ned Stark had not quite expected the fierce barrage that was Jaime’s attacks. Jaime went to knock the loser, but Stark rose, using the tip of his blade to steady himself. “You done yet Stark? Come meet me again and let’s end this now! Glover took a step forward and spoke in a cool tone, “ Now why don’t you step away from my liege lord, Defiler?” 

“Defiler? Really? Defiler.. for slicing the King open?” Jaime stepped forward and six weapons were drawn in front of him. Jaime laughed loudly, “Trust me, I've asked myself that question too. This is all very sudden, isn’t it? For me, it was like a flash of dragon’s blood in my eyes, and then, I had hardly just sat down,” Jaime waved his sword like a wand, “there out of thin air, a wolf before my eyes. I never asked for a wolf, especially an honorable man so caged in his beliefs,” Jaime said with the effort of that which could probably have hailed him Best Mummer in Westeros.

They all glared at him, with looks icy from the cold North. Jaime stood there, nearest to Ned Stark, but it was Glover Jaime was looking at. “Lord Glover, how is it you freed yourself from the dungeons? Not my fathers men?” 

Lord Ethan Glover laughed, “The few that were able to make it in, yes, but if your father didn't decide to destroy almost everything in the city, there would be no resistance in his way, instead of the little mess he made here. Although, I suppose he was quick enough to contain all but Aegon’s Hill and the Keep itself.”

Jaime looked at him incredulously, _“My father tried to burn the city? That’s what you said?_ Well I wouldn't worry too much about that, I'm sure my father has some business or another to handle before he can secure the keep, and save the city. My prayers are for you fine folk. You see your rebellious leader and I have had a quarrel. I've had a change of heart, but his heart lays at the feet of the Great Stag.”

Cassel shouted out, “Enough! If this spoiled Kingsguard wishes to usurp the throne..” 

“Usurp? Usurp? What the hell are you on about Martyn? The rebels are you and I. The King is dead, indeed, but we’re all usurpers now. I was going to step down from the Throne Stark, but you gave me something Ned. An idea.” Jaime raised his sword and stepped back towards corpse and throne, “The Throne is mine, Lord Stark. The Throne is mine here and now. Robert only wanted to paint the Trident with Dragon’s Blood. Well, Rhaegar is probably dead, and the realm is … safe.” Jaime looked at Stark and then bowed, holding his emotion in “If you think you can stop me, let us begin.” 

_The Prince is dead, one look at Stark and ..dead, I can see it in his wolfish eyes._

The men began to run towards Jaime but stopped when they heard Eddard speak. “Brothers! Stand down! This an issue between me and Jamie Lanni....”. 

“You heard your Alpha Male, wolves. Heel.”

Howland Reed stepped forward, but lowered his weapons, “He is the most honourable man we have ever known, people do as he commands because they respect him, and love him, and believe in his King, and every single one of us will die for him if need be,” Reed said curtly.

Jaime sighed, “So be it.” _Finally, a true fight for a man to be King._

“No,” Stark’s voice echoed through the giant room and eerily echoed off the iron swords of the Throne behind Jaime. “Seven men do not fight one and call it Justice, if this is to be done, it will be done in front of our King Robert. We wait.”

He stared at Jaime then, in a way that pissed off Jaime beyond belief. A look that said, this is what will happen and there isn't the slightest thing you can do to stop it. Jaime faked a step forward and gleefully watched as all the men, except Stark, twitched. 

“Oh Ned Stark, you really know nothing. I had hoped it wasn’t a family trait but I guess all Starks are hopeless honourable fools.” Jaime smiled, “No waiting, this ends now.”

Jaime stepped forward, towards his fate.


	3. TYWIN

Half the city of King’s Landing was afire, when they came to tell him that the deed was done. 

_I hope my men treated them better than they have treated us and the realm, but knowing Clegane, it’s improbable. All the better perhaps, yet only time will tell._

Tywin stepped back from the fires and screaming. Halfway up Aegon’s Hill, one could see everything. Fires, women being raped, people dying, and yet Tywin Lannister could not hear any of it. 

_It comes down to numbers, that and how badly they fell for our feint._

“We must break the resistance and breach the Red Keep, the God’s only know what Aery’s has been scheming through all this and Jaime with him... he is in danger,” Tywin ascended his horse with quick skill and efficiency, as if he had been doing it all his life, which was generally true. “If we are quick, we may be able to stop him before he tries to lift a finger.”

“My Lord, Ned Stark has already breached the Keep. He and his men passed through unnoticed with weapons sheathed and only a few of our men have been able to pass the City Watch who remain loyal to the crown. Most of those soldiers had a mind to head down to the dungeons and free men loyal to Roberts cause, the ten or so men left battling here, the ones that came with you, they say the Goldcloaks were shouting it to each other and they were shouting because of spiders, it’s all very confused, My Lord.” 

Tywin was not sure the name of the high officer who spoke, but from the crimson cloak, he knew he was a Lannister man. Tywin smiled to himself bitterly, “So the cloaks seem to think this siege is Lannister exclusive? Did the city watch forget that Stark grey rebels against their Dragon King as well as the Lion? And, you are aware we arrived in King’s Landing before Ned Stark?” Tywin turned around and looked at the officers and soldiers standing around, “How can it be possible that we have not broken their defense entirely and breached the KEEP! They were expecting to receive an army, not fight one, we took them completely off guard, and if that does not make it embarrassing enough, we are having this conversation only yards away from the Keep itself, ” Tywin looked around in disgust, “I’ve been here all but ten minutes and you tell me none of my men fighting up the Hill were able to organize a real push to the Keep? The rest of the city has fallen, Flea Bottom is burning from corner to Gate. So, where are the rest of my officers? Why haven’t their men formed up here in the main camp at the base of the Hill? It seems the soldiers think we’ve already won and decided to have some fun, looking around for a comely maid to stick their girth in?” 

One boy had a look of half terror/half confusion on his heavily protected face as he looked up at Tywin Lannister, his commander in his golden-red armor with golden lion-shaped gems glittering off the moon. The boys helm was very well done, steel on leather, and had a red sash, that came off a ship docked in Lannisport, attached to the back of the helm. 

_The boy has a splendid helm, but if he ever thinks he can rise up in the ranks, he should learn to brave a battle with his helm off._

Tywin rarely wore a helm to battle, the only exception being if he decided to lead a van himself, which, in itself, was a rare thing for a battle commander to do. “Go now boy, find Clegane or Lorch, and bring ten men to the Keep and arrest Aerys. If the trap has worked, you will find him alone with my son Jaime,” Tywin added as an afterthought, “Oh and I suppose since Ned Stark and his men will be there.. keep  
him out of the way, but do not harm him. We do not need another war after one so important as this has just been won.” Tywin turned to the high officer, whose name still eluded him, “Go with him and make sure everything I’ve said actually happens to the book.” Before the high officer could leave, Tywin grabbed him by the front of his armor and bent to look him straight in the eyes. “And make sure to hide the children's corpses until after Robert arrives or you will have the same fate as them.”

The officer nodded and turned. That one had blonde hair and well-built torso, he looked a true Lannister in all but skill in battle. It was a reason Tywin kept him so close. Yet, he could not remember his name.

_Must be a son of some Lannisport Lannister by a Frey or was it that Hill boy, the Bastard of the West._

Tywin knew it mattered little if Aerys escaped. Tywin had already posted guards at the underground entrance to the Guild of the Alchemists and had his men battling Goldcloak loyalists outside the front gate of the Red Keep. The Spider, Varys had been found by Tywin himself, who was first to arrive at the base of Aegon’s High Hill, after the first hour into the sack. Tywin had Varys taken into custody at a smaller base camp between Aegon’s Hill and the Guild of the Alchemists, where the old alchemists were watched under guard by two crossbow wielding soldiers. The main camp was made by a flurry of crimson tents and wooden tables with maps of King’s Landing littered atop. Tywin turned once more to study the city of the Dragon Kings, soon to be no more than a Stag’s Palace.

_If Aerys or his men get their hands on the wildfire reserve, he will surely burn the entire city to the ground and most of my men with it._

Tywin turned his horse to look away from the carnage and towards the Red Keep once more. Shadows danced on the red brick from hundreds of fires throughout this city, but it only made the Keep look more impenetrable. It was.. unfortunate so many of the Kingsguard were protecting the Keep from outside its walls, but it was the only way to keep a loyal Lannister near the King. There was still some fighting at the very top of the Hill, just outside the Red Keep, but Lannister soldiers were cutting their way through the failing defense. 

_We will have the city within the hour and the sooner Robert Baratheon gets here, the sooner this war is over._

Tywin trotted his garron down Aegon’s Hill to the main camp they had built withtents. Many guards were standing around now that the fighting had died down. 

_At least they have the sense to patrol around the camp._

Most of the resistance that the Lannister army fought had died or fled the city within two hours of the siege. The battle had not even been past its first Hour when most of the soldiers from non-Targaryen Houses switched sides. Only the Houses with a sense of self-ego and idiotic pride tried to brave Lannister wrath. An easy fight for men with swords and battle axes. The real fight lay on Maester Pycelle’s feet and he had done his job magnificently. Still, he must always be watched. Pycelle might have betrayed Aerys II, but it didn't mean he was a Lannister man. A Maester was sworn to protect the city or holdfast and by extension to serve the highest authority, whether it a Lord or, in this case, the King of Westeros.

_And a Maester who breaks his oath is as trustworthy as a Eunuch from the Free Cities._

The guard had brought the Spider to the camp, for some reason, even after Tywin’s precise instructions to hold him down in custody inside the Guild. Varys wore a dark purple doublet that was made out of silk, not unlike the fashion of Dorne. He had fashioned an elaborate silk tie and belt that connected with exquisite Dornish rope from around the neck down the middle of the chest to his waist. The reddish orange pattern from the robe gave a good contrast to the deep sea purple. All in all, the effect was wasted on Tywin. “I assume the only reason you still walk is you have some information? Some words to save your skin, so you don’t fall to the same fate as your Targaryen overlords?” Tywin sneered, “Out with it Eunuch, so I can continue on my way.”

Varys smiled a slimy smile, “Of course it would be most imprudent of me to intrude on the time of a military mind such as yours,” he bowed his head, “And yet time is of the essence and my little birds have information on a new development.” Varys smile flickered and Tywin noted a small look of mischief before his smile came back bigger than ever. “It seems the Mad King has become the late Mad King. Your son Jaime Lannister slew him and Hand Rossart both after they conspired to burn the entire city with wildfire.” 

_I Knew It. Wildfire. The city. His entire House’s legacy burned because he couldn't contain his mind._

“Madness, ever since I put down my position as Hand of the King, the entire realm has gone to the seventh hell.” Tywin squinted suspiciously at the Spider, in his ridiculous clothing and bald, babe-like face. “Why did you wait at the base of the Hill, if it was anyone else, Lorch, Clegane, Valarr Hill,” That’s the Bastards name, “they would have cut you down before you had the chance to move that worm you call a tongue.”

Varys smiled wanly, “It is true that I put myself in significant danger, but there had been a change this midday, some things that required haste were slowed down by unexpected arrival. Unfortunate to say, more than I laboured in great discomfort to protect and conserve life, mine and others,” Varys had a mask of a look etched on his face, Tywin was having trouble reading him, “However, once I had found out about a few events occurring very recently the past few hours just before this sack and up until now, I realized I needed to find you, My Lord. Well the Commander of a victorious army should be first to arrive on his newly conquered Keep, should he not?” Varys bowed his head gracefully. 

“And Jaime? What news of my son? If you know all, what news of the King and my son, isolated in the Great Hall?” Tywin asked, his voice rumbling with authority, “If you speak all and you speak it true, I will consider letting you live. A whispering spider with ties to the Free Cities has its uses and its disadvantages. _Pray you choose your next words wisely Eunuch.”_

Varys never seemed like a man who showed much emotion, regardless of his opinions, even if he tried to hide it. Tywin could relate, a man who shows conviction over appeal is a fresh change from the usual squabble, and a skilled mummer too.., perhaps the Spider may be more useful than I had thought. Perhaps not. “I am aware of the difficulty you had leaving your son in the company of our rightful mad King,” Varys gestured to the city around them, “Yet, the walls have fallen and the city is yours and … Jaime’s. It seems your son has seen fit to name himself Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and ...subsequently the  
true King.”

Tywin’s eyes flew open, a rare thing for Tywin, but this news came very unexpectedly. “What? Has the boy lost his senses, Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon will call for his head. The whole bloody Kingdom will turn on itself to stop him.” 

_There is a chance here. If the Lion pounces at the right time._

“Unless.. what news of Ned Stark?”

Varys had his hands clasped together in front of him, like holding a clap, but raised his arms dramatically and slipped them back under his robes, “Gone, missing, dead .. no one really knows. It’s apparent that whatever transpired in the Red Keep, stayed in the Red Keep. Not a single person has been seen leaving the Keep or entering it, for that matter, since Ned Stark and his men slipped past the battling Gold Cloaks and into the Throne room itself. There was shouting and then low words and the clashes of steel and the Great Doors were closed... and nothing.”  
“Speaking of the bloody Cloaks, I thought Janos Slynt had swayed the City Watch to Robert’s cause?” 

“Most had switched sides after hearing young Janos Slynt’s tempting offer. Easy for most when the options are join the Lannister in the butchery of King’s Landing or fall victim to the butchery of King’s Landing,” Varys sighed exaggeratedly, “Yet there are still some who wear the Gold Cloak for honor and justice.” Varys shuddered, “Those Cloaks are giving Lannister men such trouble throughout the city. Most of the honorable Cloaks fought but mostly died up their way defending Aegon’s Hill from your vanguard, trying fruitlessly to protect the Keep. Stark arrived and told his men to sheathe their swords, it was the only way to get past the Cloaks. The defenders of the Keep were reacting to the Lannister crimson with a weapon in hand, not unarmed Stark grey.”

Tywin began trotting towards the Keep, “There is still time perhaps, the Gold Cloak defense is about to fall. It will fall once my army regroups at the base of Aegon’s Hill.” Tywin stopped a second and observed this bald man from some corner of the Free Cities, “Where did you get this information? I had you put under strict custody.” 

Varys smiled his biggest smile yet, “Well my Lord, that is the problem with my little birds, they have wings and some are so small and forgettable that they can slip past any guard.” Tywin thought to himself a moment. 

_He is more useful under the illusion that he is free but that tongue and the way he talks, let’s just hope Robert...or Jaime has enough sense to watch over him.. or perhaps, I'll leave him his decapitated head. Do Eunuchs die when you cut off their head?_

Tywin straightened his back further, “Varys, it seems your rightful King was right about your usefulness. It is good news, our new King will be lost without a Spider, so I have seen fit to restore you to Master of Whisperer’s...but that was before I spoke with you. I had seen it to ignore you during my time as Hand of the King. Now you come before me begging with stories that I could get from a Tavern outside the city within the night,” Tywin pointed to the officer who had escorted Varys to the camp, “You, fetch me a block and a Headsman mask. I would rather not have this Eunuchs blood on my face after I execute him for treason. Do you think me daft? I know it was you who urged Aerys to bar the gates to me. Let’s hope your head is as easy to remove as your appendages.”

Varys smile had slipped off his face and now his true face shone in the moonlight, a look of contempt and waywardness etched on his face, “It seems this small Spider has outlived his usefulness, it’s a shame, I always believed that Lannisters had the same hatred for the Targaryens as Robert Baratheon. Ah, should I say first of his name? True protector of the realm? King of Westeros? I am not sure, your son’s actions have confused me terribly.”

The officer brought the block and placed it under the feet of Varys and forcibly bent him over so his neck was parallel to the edge of the block. The officer placed a basket under Varys head. 

From atop his horse, it looked as if Varys head was larger than the basket. Tywin dismounted and unsheathed his sword, while all the while Varys talked, “I understand your hastiness to kill all the traitors in this city, ironic that you decided to kill the one who knows all the rest.” Tywin stopped, “Yes, My Lord of Lannister, I know most of them. I know the men who conspired with Aerys and Rossart to burn the city down. I know the Houses that fled the city when you arrived, Houses that aided Aerys and the Targaryens against Roberts Rebellion.”

Tywin looked at the steel in his hands, at his own reflection staring at him. _What man am I, he asked when I was just a boy._

“Varys, do you think me a fool? I know the Houses that betrayed Roberts Cause. I know them all by heart. House Selmy, House Yronwood, House Connington, House Martell, House Redwyne and bloody House Tyrell still lay siege against Storm’s End. Stannis Baratheon can hardly find a rat to feed on and the Tyrells are having feasts outside the walls to mock him. Do you think Mace Tyrell deserves to be freed after forcing an entire castle to starve Eunuch?” 

“Of course not, My Lord, but we were never talking about what a person deserves. Mace Tyrell and Lord Redwyne will either kill everyone in Storm’s End through starvation or he will be defeated in some way or the other, perhaps by your hand, but in the end, after all he has done, he will be free and no one’s justice will go after him,” Varys looked up at him from the block, “it would be the same if you were in his position, men who hold all the power and resources most oft do not get what’s coming to them.”

_He is right about that._

Tywin was still staring at his own eyes in the reflection of his steel. And now it has come to this moment. He raised the sword above his head and spoke, “Any last words Eunuch? Speak your last sentences, with your fancy accents and tones, and then say goodbye to this world.” 

Varys turned and looked right into the eyes of Tywin Lannister, “My Lord of Lannister, as the Master of Whisperers, my little birds tell me it is quite unwise to kill this poor, little Eunuch.” The man could not have said it any plainer, “You and your successor to the Throne are going to need me,” Varys smiled such a slimy smile, Tywin wished nothing more than to bring the sword down and listen to the sound of his head falling into the basket, never to speak again. 

Instead, Tywin lowered the sword, “Well? Out with it, Eunuch.” Varys began to rise, “With your permission, I would like to stan..” Tywin, in a blur, spun his sword and pushed Varys back down upon the block with the golden hilt of his sword. In another blur, the hilt was back in Tywin’s hand with the tip pointed at Varys nose, “Permission denied. Speak. Now.” 

Varys had a look on his face of fear and looked fit to cry “A threat to Robert, Jaime, or whoever truly ends up on the throne.” To Tywin, the crying, sad face of Varys showed only a look of mockery. “And what threat is this, exactly?” Tywin whispered slowly. Your life hangs on the answer.

“It seems your information is old, your Mountain of a dog and his dangerous pups have let a few dragons slip past them and set loose upon the world,” Varys was watching Tywin’s face closely, Tywin could feel his buggy eyes bulging towards him, standing overhead with a sword in hand. 

Tywin maintained a calm coolness to his voice, but what the Eunuch said worried him, it very much worried him and disturbed him. “What the bloody hell do you mean? I have been assured that the Targaryen children are dead and with Rhaegar dead, lying somewhere near the Trident with a bloody dent in his chest, and what you’ve just told me about Aerys , I think the realm is done with Targaryens.”

Varys stood at that moment, but Tywin was thinking too fast and too intensely to really notice. “It seems not all the Targaryen children have died. One has been born. Viserys and Rhaella Targaryen have fled safely, through your little sack, and on to Dragonstone the moment you set foot inside these walls. The mother Rhaella, Aerys wife, she has died in labour, birthing her daughter the moment she arrived inside the castle walls. She was supposed to give birth in three more moon cycles," Varys face was milky white, "I've been told the child is frail, but alive.” 

Tywin felt a rare sense of incredulous confusion, “You bring me news of a Targaryen death and yet claim a threat still lies? The child Viserys is but, what, seven or eight years old? Let them lie forever on the dragon carved stone beds of Dragonstone. We will have it under siege and taken by the end of the season.”

“Except,” Varys gave a small hopeless smile, “The boy Viserys and the newborn girl are under guard with a Knight still loyal to their cause, Willem Darry plans to flee Dragonstone with safe passage towards Braavos, and the amnesty of the Free Cities, the moment he hears word that the Siege of Storm’s End is lifted.” 

_Great, more Madness even after all this._

“How could this have happened? This is Mace Tyrells fault, if not for his bloody siege, Stannis Baratheon could have dealt with those children immediately.” Varys had a bemused look on his face, “Stannis is known as a sometimes cruel but just man. I do not think he could kill such innocent lives, so easily.” 

“A newborn girl you say? Did the mother die from the birthing?”

“Yes,” said Varys. “It was always believed that the child came from the last time Aerys and Rhaella shared a bed.” 

“That was a rape, if all accounts are believed,” Tywin noted.

“Indeed it was, My Lord of Lannister,” Varys had a sad, puzzling look on his face now, “It seems Targaryens are rather inclined to steal any women of their choosing.” 

_Tyrion...What? Why am I thinking of him? I am losing my mind talking to this Eunuch._

Tywin shook his head slightly and looked at Varys, dressed as a purple Eunuch for the occasion of the siege, “What’s her name?”

Varys looked confused, “My pardons, my Lord. Whose name?”

Tywin stepped forward, “The girls name, the newborn who killed her mother on her way out.”

Varys straightened his back and looked directly into the eyes of Tywin Lannister, “They say Rhaella named her right before she died. Her last breath, she whispered, you are Daenerys Targaryen, my love.” Varys had that same sad look on his face, “and she could quite possibly be the last Targaryen born in all of time.”

Tywin sheathed his sword, stepped back, and nodded, “ I suppose you already have a plan to track them.” Tywin began to walk back up Aegon’s Hill and Varys followed, leaving the garron at the camp. The officer who had brought Varys attempted to follow but Tywin grabbed him by his shoulder guard and went right up to his face, “I can handle the Eunuch. You go secure the Red Keep and bring me news of what is transpiring there.” The officer ran when Tywin let him go, he didn’t look back once.

Varys seemed to have no trouble keeping pace with the long strides of Tywin. “I do have quite a good plan, but it relies on a person who I don’t yet have,” Varys stopped and Tywin turned to face him, “With your approval and knowledge, I could send someone across the Narrow Sea to spy on the Targaryens.”

Tywin considered the notion a moment, “Who would you send? How would you find someone who is trustworthy and willing to kill a babe?”

Varys gestured dramatically, “I could not say, although I’m sure some of your men are well acquainted with taxing tasks such as butchery of babes.” Tywin tensed and squinted suspiciously at Varys.

The Eunuch only smiled meekly “ Men of that nature exist in all armies, in all places of the realm, but back to the subject of the Targaryen problem, the plan is to have the right man sent to Slaver’s Bay and once there, he will learn the culture of the Free Cities. He will learn the languages of the Ghiscari, the Braavosi, the Dothraki, all of them. By the time Viserys comes of age and Daenerys has flowered, our man will befriend them and end their unfortunate little lives, wherever they end up.”

Tywin did not need to hear anymore, “Go Varys, hide or run or do whatever it is Eunuchs do when they are in danger. Your position on the council is safe as long as the information you have on the Targaryens helps us end them once and for all. Now leave me.”

Varys nodded and began to walk away, but before Tywin could ask of what transpired in the Red Keep, Varys spoke again, “My Lord of Lannister.” 

Varys had turned back to look at the man who, thanks to his son, would now own the entire realm, “You should know, Lord Tywin, that the only reason your son slew the King in cold blood...is the King had asked Jaime to murder you.”

Varys bowed his head respectfully and continued walking up the hill towards the Red Keep, before he disappeared from Tywin’s view, behind a veil of smoke and destruction.


	4. DAVOS

Storm’s End was likely the biggest castle ever constructed. In truth, it looked a bit haunted, like a giant structure with a theme of daunting towers that were made of stone, a smaller stone brick tower built atop a larger one below, but with a giant of a rook plunged deep in the middle, towering over all. You had to respect its sheer size and impossibility. It was built at the edge of a cliff overlooking the northern tip of Blackwater Bay. When you stood at its giant curtain wall, you had to crane your neck until it felt like to snap before you could see the top. You could not even see the top during the hour of the wolf. But during this hour, not seeing is exactly the thing I need from the patrol guards.

His boat was small, a sturdy girl off his own ship Black Betha, which was a quick thing but too large. Luckily, it was stealth Davos required, not speed, and an escape boat was the perfect size and shape to fit into the sewers. I hope their hungry mouths can wait a few more minutes. Better to be cautious and safe, then be discovered and lose all. Inside the boat, Davos had filled every space he could find with bags of onions. When there were no more onions, Davos began filling in the spaces with small crates of salt beef and other crates of food he could grab, without being discovered. It was very risky work. Most of this food, he had gotten from the main belligerents of the Siege of Storm’s End; Mace Tyrell and Lord Redwyne.

During scouting missions, Davos realized that stealing from the southern lords, who supported the dragon, would be rather easy, especially since their supply of food was so abundant. This night, however, there were less men around the supplies and Davos felt he was easy to spot. His cover as a cook assistant worked most nights, but, once in awhile, Davos ran into a suspicious patrol officer or a drunk soldier that left his heart pounding and praying to the Light of the Seven.

The final night before he felt he had enough supplies, he took a rather risky mission to the northern walls of Storm’s End. Tyrell had bought a months supplies of onions and salted beef from some scoury merchant from the Fingers. Davos realized that he would be able to fit more bags of onions than anything else on the small boat that could pass underneath. Every castle has its secrets Davos was not spotted once and many men that passed him by seemed to think he belonged there. Davos caught a few of their words and realized they knew him for the cook’s assistant. Highborn lords rarely knew the names of the servants in their employ. 

_Tyrell’s arrogance might have just cost him a siege, but they'd never ask me._

It depended of course, depended on the actions of Davos this night. A smuggler born and raised, with no hope for titles or ranks, Davos was accustomed to this sort of mission. 

_Darkness and only a castle wall in my way. Easy work._

He would have never been in a position to needs save a great Lord and a brother to the king at that, but Stannis Baratheon was no ordinary Lord. The most just man Davos had ever heard about, Stannis never balked, nor did he do anything that had no honor in it. Of course, Stannis probably did not remember the lowborn smuggler, passing as an honest lowborn man, whom he met only once, and that the lowborn man had been so taken aback at the justice of this Lord. As long as Davos lived, he would do all he could to aid Stannis, the man who gave Davos hope in his people and in his brother, the soon to be King Robert Baratheon.

Nearing the sewer opening at the bottom of the castle, the enormity of the great structure was lost in the small crevasse that limited Davos’ view. Tunnel Vision. Davos knew his eyes would adjust, as they always did during these smuggler jobs. But this is no mere smugglers work. Davos grabbed the top of the brick sewer entrance and, with proficient skill, guided his smugglers boat into the opening, and under Storm’s End. The tunnel was mostly pitch black, other than the few inches around the opening. Davos could not see, but the moment he was swallowed by the darkness, his ears pricked up, and his fingers of his left hand always stayed in contact with the dark brick sewer wall of Storm’s End. 

Davos began counting under his breath. _One..two.._ He passed by other sewer tunnels, opening left and right. Davos knew the sewers down here probably formed a giant maze, but he also knew it was his own course that would take him to the only path into the actual castle.

 _Six..seven.._ in a heart-stopping moment, Davos went to scratch his nose, and he lost his footing. _Mother have mercy!_ The whole boat shifted violently and the bow knocked into the right of the sewer wall. Luckily, the boat steadied herself from the momentum and angle of the knock. Davos did not think there was enough space for the boat to truly turn over, but the water here was short in supply and the jagged rocks underwater could seriously damage Davos and the boat both. 

Davos shifted some of the bags of onions under his legs and rump so that, instead of crouching above the food, he was sitting on a sort of onion seat.

 _They should call this the Onion Throne._ He chuckled lightly. 

The rest was the darkness, the quickened heart thumping in Davos’ chest, the soft splashes the water made against the boat, and the waiting. Davos counted, the seconds passing, under his breath. _forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven.._ Finally, thump. 

The thin wooden dock was small and low on the receding waters of Storms End’s sewer system. Eventually, the waters will reach such low levels that the boardwalk must either be removed or renovated to balance on top of the uneven rocks. Davos tied his boat to the dock and began walking up and down the length of the boardwalk, searching for something to carry the entire load, preferably something with wheels. Davos couldn't find much of anything, only dust and cobwebs, so he decided to venture up the iron rungs carved into the wall, beside a large oil lantern that was dark and dusty from lack of use. Step by step he climbed, perhaps twenty steps until, _THWACK_ the grate struck his head. Davos cursed loudly and noticed the confined noise of his scream, and then realized it was still pitch black.

 _No stars, no sky. It’s a closed room that hasn't seen light in years._

Davos tried to rattle the bars above his head that felt so much like a prison cell. It wouldn't budge no matter how hard he pushed. He tried banging the grate with his hands and heard a chain rattle. He tried again but all that did was hurt his right palm. Frustrated, Davos climbed down again and went back to his small boat and grabbed a sack of onions.

It was difficult enough trying to climb the iron rungs in the pitch black darkness, but it was near impossible with a sack of onions in his right hand. The climb was slower this time, but Davos knew how many steps to take before it was safe. Davos thanked The Seven for the wall that enclosed the ladder. It allowed Davos to lean back and comfortably rest his back on the brick wall that was only a few brick length down. He kept his feet on the rung, so he was no more than lying on a vertical bed of brick bathed in darkness. He reached up to make sure the grate was in his range before grabbing the hempen rucksack and holding it, with both hands, between his legs. He began swinging it up and down, using the momentum to swing faster and, when he felt the speed was enough, brought the onions up with all the force and strength he could muster.

 _CRACK!_ The sound brought a sigh of relief from him as the chain fell from above and landed on the wooden dock below. Davos climbed up and took a whiff of the air. It smelled vaguely and lightly of shit. It had been a privy, perhaps, a millennia past, but had been converted into a sewer exit. It looked to be forgotten for years. The moonlight came from a crack under what looked like just more brick stone. 

Davos walked two steps and knelt to look through the crack. The underside of the door proved his theory true. The brick door was disguised as wall, probably to disguise the exit of the ancient Storm King’s that birthed the House of Baratheon and most of the Houses of the Stormlands. Davos stood himself straight and pushed against the wall, yet it didn't budge. He sighed and knelt again and grabbed the brick under the crevasse and between the shining moon lit ground. 

_It’s always the other way with these trick doors. Easier to get in then to go back out._

This time the door easily shifted and Davos pulled it inwards, towards the now broken sewer grate behind him. _Well, it’s much more straightforward now, thank the Crone._

Davos put the lock breaking onion sack outside, against a house in the lowborn village were peasants or sorts like himself lived. It took several minutes to carry the rest of the load of eighteen more sacks of onions and crates of salt beef and salt fish, one-handed, up the iron ladder. The crates were the hardest to get up the rungs. Davos had to lean forward and hold each crate on his back, climbing with his left hand and holding the crate that leaned against his own body. Finally, Davos, with an accomplished feeling, stretched the kinks out of his body and exhaled in the slightly salty air.

Shipbreaker Bay was very far below the cliff that Storm’s End was built on, but Davos could still smell the salt that he was so accustomed to during his previous smuggling work, more than a few working with a Lyseni pirate named Saan. Stannis, who was a known commander on both land and sea, had previously looked into Saan’s more famous smuggling operations around Shipbraker. Davos also knew that Stannis had found out about Saan’s irregular partner, a lowborn smuggler named Captain Seaworth. Stannis is a hard man, but just. I must get them the provisions and think on the dangers to myself later.

Davos walked towards the blacksmiths shop and found a well-sized wheelbarrow and brought it back. Loading the provisions was faster than he expected and in a few seconds he was ready to wheel the cart up towards the Keep. Something made him look back, perhaps it was the count in his head while loading the barrow, eighteen sacks of onions and a crate of salt beef and salt fish, but the lock breaking onion sack was missing. Davos cursed again and went down to the alley towards the lowborn village. He walked down, his ears listening to every step he took, and heard something so strange it made him stop in his tracks. 

_There was crying, more than one voice, more than ten .._

Davos turned a corner and found himself in a large square surrounded by more slums. The moonlight painted the tragic scene in front of him. A group of very skinny men and women were sobbing hysterically holding the onions from the eleventh bag, now discarded and lost. They were biting, ripping at the things, not even caring about the dry crackled layers outside. They ate it all, and they cried, for probably hundreds of reasons, and they laughed too sometimes, if they could. There was one older woman who lay upright beside a corpse of a man she must have known well. She cried as she tried to feed the dead man, the shells of the purple vegetable lying peacefully on the man’s face. It was there when Davos decided how this would go. 

Davos began calling out, “Lords, ladies, lowborn men and women both, come, I have provisions, enough for all.” “Lord Stannis”, he called as he ran up the alley, towards the Keep, “Lord Stannis, I have brought food! Onions and salted beef. Come, bring your empty bellies and see them filled. I have food!” 

The shouts echoed across the old stone and rang out across the entirety of the castle. The others, from the village closest to him, were the first to be roused by his call. They came in groups but were wary at first, looking around for some Tyrell trap. The drawbridge for the Keep lowered and Stannis came, alone and without guard to see who hailed his very name. He was skinny too, his face was skeletal, the skin pressing to bone tightly, but he walked with his back straight all the same. He approached Davos slowly and stopped in front of him, looking around at those brave enough to grab an onion sac and upend the fifteen or so onions inside. The cries and shouts of laughter and prayer filled the dark quiet night, and Stannis Baratheon’s voice added to the music, “I know not why you've come only help me bring some to the Keep with haste, my entire council and their families have been without food too long I fear. Quickly now.”

“What about you, my lord?”

“The food goes to the women and children in the Keep first! I will have men fed and see to it the same is organized in the villages. Only, I saw Maester Cressen fall not moments ago. Quickly.” 

Stannis grabbed four sacks of the onions, two in each hand, so Davos opted to take the crates of salt beef and fish and was able to balance an onion sack on top and they ran as fast as their legs could take them across the drawbridge and into the Keep. There was moaning and sounds that reminded Davos of a woman in labour coming from the right castle hallway, probably quarters. Stannis dropped the onions on the silver, gem embroidered longtable in the Grand Hall. He called out first, _“CRESSEN,_ wake up you old wise fool, honorable as you are for giving up food for the others,” but decided to grab some of the salt fish and two onions and rush to the Grand Hallway to the ancient Storm Kings quarters and Maester’s quarters.

They found Cressen on his bed with his own squire fidgeting over the different bottles on the shelves, but none could alleviate starvation. Davos waited in the doorway while Stannis and the squire boy roused the poor Maester and gave him slices of onion and pieces of the salt fish. Even then, the Maester insisted that Stannis eat his fill first, but Stannis made sure Cressen was fed before he stood and ate with a great urgency. 

Stannis sat on the silver throne around the equally silver dais and closed his eyes. He sounded a few satisfied hums before opening them and turning his head towards Davos still standing, close to the entrance of the Maester’s Quarters. “I assume you are a smuggler because..,” Stannis grabbed an empty sack and upturned it, showing a golden rose on a green field, “So I assume you must be one of Saan’s men? He heard about the bounty I placed on his head and decided to help his fellow man?” 

Davos looked down at that but his eyes met Stannis’ a second later, “No, m’lord. I may know Salladhor Saan by reputation, but I do not know him as a friend.” That was a lie and Davos knew it. Not a good start. “My name is Davos and I came because I know of you, m’lord. I know of some of the decisions you made in the past, your actions are true and just, more so than I have seen in most men, and I expect no less when it comes to me.” Davos pointed to his chest with his right hand. 

Stannis allowed him to continue, “The reason I came here is simple. You have lasted almost a year with low provisions. You have never given up, never yielded. I heard what you did to those knights, three of them, that tried to escape and surrender to Mace Tyrell. I was there. Posing as a chef’s assistant. Taking each day what I could and hoping that your strength would continue to keep an entire castle without food alive. I could never let a man like that die. Not before I had a chance to break bread and salt with him first.”

Stannis looked at him then, the top of his head slightly angled to the left, and a sort of smile crossed his lips, a little bemused smile as he looked to Cressen who had sat up on the bed during the speech. “Well, today has been quite an unusual day. I am saved by an admiring smuggler whose complements are actually humbling for once and not a want for status.” Stannis turned and walked towards Cressen, "People are fools smuggler and the ones who are not can be mercilessly cruel." 

Davos looked down at his feet and then up again, "Some _can_ be. Though there are some who fit another description, one of faithless work for men and women who deserve it, not inherit it." 

Davos looked at Maester Cressen too then and a laugh escaped from his old withered mouth, “Ah, My Lord Stannis. I thank the Mother and the Crone that they have brought this honest smuggler to save this castle. I haven't seen a smile such as that cross your face since Robert used to pick up and spin Renly in the air when you were all but a child.”

Stannis wasn't smiling anymore, “Yes I remember,” he said swiftly, “You said your name was Davos. Is Davos your full name?” Stannis got up from the seat, using the silver dais to help his frail body rise.

 _This it it. May the Seven protect me._ “No, m’lord. My name is Davos Seaworth, Captain of the Black Betha. I have been smuggling since my youth. ” Cressen’s smile had drooped off his face and he turned to look to Stannis, perhaps hoping he would not do the things he would do, but they both knew he must. Stannis’ thick eyebrows narrowed, his head glowing from the light reflecting off it.

“Yes. I thought as much, Captain Davos Seaworth. You have saved this castle and the people protecting it for my brother, Robert. Yet, you have spent most of your life smuggling and robbing this storage or this surplus of provisions. Still though, you are an honest, humble man and I do not doubt your intentions. I need more men like you and less like Ser Wylde. I think the term I am seeking is bloody fool, ” Stannis’ eyes narrowed as he looked Davos up and down. “Can you tell me truths when others only seek to flatter? I would seek a test. How well do you know your fellow Salladhor Saan?”

Davos looked at Stannis, never losing eye contact, “I am very lucky to have known such an honest of a smuggler as Saan.”

Stannis’ head tilted up, his chin surging forward, “I asked how well? I won't ask again smuggler.”

Davos answered as best he could, “Not so well as I'd like, I suppose.”

Stannis scowled, “Indeed. So the honest smuggler is caught as a liar. Yet, you stand there as if he isn't one of your most loyal partners, why? And please say _my. lord._ I never understood why a lowborn must say m’lord as if he is exempt from understanding simple language.”

“There was no lie, my.. my lord. I wanted to see whether you knew me enough before I named myself. You know that, unlike most smugglers, we only take provisions and not lives. You know that most of those we steal from are overwhelmingly wealthy and you also know who Saan has been known to give food out too. The poor and the sick and the helpless and forgotten. I came here because I knew that I would receive the justice I would deserve and what makes me stand here, still as a board? Well, its simply the idea that you will do what is just and I give myself to that justice, all of myself.”

Stannis looked at him again, long and hard but the last few moments his face softened and there was a hint of a smile as he turned to his Maester, “Cressen. Have a few more bites of salt beef and fetch me my Greatsword and a bucket, filled with cold water. I wish to take you into my service Davos Seaworth. I have never met anyone quite like you and I think your council will be, strangely noteworthy. I wish to knight you tonight, Davos so that you will be known henceforth as Ser Davos Seaworth, the savior knight holding his onions.” 

“Well that would make me the Onion Knight. I suppose that would be a well enough sigil for a lowborn man such as yourself.” Stannis walked over to Davos, “lowborn in the past perhaps, but what can be said of your future, and the turn it has taken this night.” Davos had the question lingering in his mind the entire time since Stannis had spoken the words, “My Lord, what is the purpose of the bucket of water and the sword.”

Stannis turned his back to Davos and walked to one of the many windows that lined the Storm Kings ancient throne room. “You came to me a lowborn smuggler tonight,” Stannis raised four fingers, “four fingers for four kingdoms that I know you worked years of smuggling work.” Stannis clenched those fingers into his fist. “A knighthood and a want for council from this half-starved Lord. I expect you will continue to bring in food from Tyrell after this.”

Davos nodded, “with or without my fingers.”

Stannis nodded curtly, “You are saving our lives here and again, but that doesn't make the stealing right. Whether or not Tyrell has a surplus, he has every right to fight for a completely madman of a King. What am I to do? Shout war tactics to him from top the battlements? He calls us rebels, then we are rebels, rebels and usurpers, no? We are all usurpers until Robert takes the Throne. But enough on that, you understand why I must do this?”

Davos looked down at his fingers, all of them, “I do,” Davos nodded,” and I honestly expected a more severe consequence, m..my lord.”

Stannis smiled at that as well, “You saved us Ser Davos, you have no idea how close we were too...” Stannis smile turned into a grimace, “You saved our skin and souls both, Ser Davos.”

Maester Cressen had his squire carry the wood bucket into his quarters and placed it in front of Davos, Cressen carried the sword himself and handed it to Stannis, hilt first. It was sheathed in a dark green and red velvet scabbard with a single green emerald embroidered on the tip of the hilt.

Davos kneeled but suddenly worried he spoke without thinking, “only, Maester Cressen, if you could preserve my fingers. I wish to keep the bones on my own person if it please my Lord.”

Stannis had a face of curiosity etched on his face, “I will only cut the tips of the four on your right. One for each of the part of the realm you worked in. Why keep the useless bones?”

Davos looked up at his man, Lord Stannis Baratheon, the Iron Justice, and replied, “Simply for luck, My Lord.”


	5. TYWIN

The nine bodies littered the Throne Rooms floor, with blood and milky white tissue leaking out from gashes and severed limbs. A scene from a nightmare, bodies all over, and blood painting the dais and the steps up to the Throne, where his son Jaime sat leaning, unorthodox and not without some arrogance in his position. The body closest to Tywin and his Lannister soldiers, deceased Lord Rossart, had a giant gap between his right shoulder and hip, gore and organs easily seen. Tywin walked with authority through it all. A bloody cloak of grey caught his eye, but his thoughts were fixed on his son and the dead King lying in front of the steps to the Iron Throne. 

It was there, his son and King, Jaime sat. 

His golden-blonde hair had blood in it, drying now and his armor had hundreds of scratches and cuts across it. His sword was strung up horizontally on the top of the melded hilts of the swords that stuck out like iron spikes. The sword was dripping blood onto the square Grand Dais that the Iron Throne sat upon. Overall, the effect did nothing to enhance Tywin’s mood. Jaime sat there leaning his back on the sideways, so that he sat diagonally on the Throne. He looked lazy up there, but Tywin could forgive him that, the battle looked fierce and Tywin wondered how he could have survived it, even with all his skill. Jaime’s face sharpened as Tywin got closer and he saw that his face held no grin or the face of a victorious man, finally taking what should have rightfully been his families for more than a generation. He did not look proud, nor excited to see his father. 

“Jaime, come down from there, are you hurt?” Tywin asked. 

Jaime looked up from his brooding, “Father. Look around you, bodies litter the floor and the new King bloodied, why, I feel a great.” Jaime shifted slightly, and Tywin could see his shoulder tensing and Jaime’s hands, quick to put pressure on his hip, “It seems these fine Northern fighters are fiercer than I anticipated. Not to worry though, the Grand Maester has been summoned. Well, I shouted Pycelle loudly a few times, but I've been here for quite a while now.”

Tywin turned to his officers shadowing him, “Well? Summon the Grand Maester, Now!” The Lannister man ran past him, crossed the hall with speed, and disappeared through to the Royal Quarters of the current generation of Kings.

Jaime was still sitting in that almost lazy pose on the Throne, “Jaime, come here and tell me why you've done this. We have just started a war with the North, Vale, and Stormlands three. Jaime, something has been done and with this action it looks like you would have been in the position to make the decision..” Tywin tried to continue, but Jaime had his eyes on him, the first time since Tywin walked in, so he let Jaime speak.

“What do you mean father. Done. What’s been done?” Jaime asked nervously as if he could feel something in the air, lingering around the dead.

“The inevitable. Though it would look better under the veil of Robert’s rule, but I suppose Aerys and Stark left you no choice in the matter?” Tywin’s green-gold eyes pierced into Jaime bright green ones.

Jaime did not speak for a few seconds as he looked to be in a daydream, remembering. Finally, he spoke, “No father. This was entirely my choice. These past few days I have been locked in a room with a madman, never knowing what he could possibly think up next, another cruel idea of his ever creative mind. The King I swore my life to”, Jaime whispered two words but his voice rose gradually as he spoke, “...for her, and then Eddard Stark, a completely different creature with his cool contrast. The man is more honor than brains, but he did sc... I mean, I almost did get up from the Throne because of his words and his presence there. I tried not to show any emotion, like you would have done, but then something happened. The sun seemed to explode and it was such a dark shade of gold, I’ve never seen that before, like a sudden change in the winds. It felt incredible and I saw, like a scene replaying in my head, the legacy of the dragons, truly. I saw nothing but death, dominance, and destruction. No true peace, only power.”

Tywin was pleased enough by that, but there were still serious problems to his son’s choice, “Robert’s wrath will follow you and with Eddard Stark dead, the entire North will follow Robert to these gates. Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully as well. If we are careful, we may be able to keep Dorne and Highgarden out of this or to our own side. I will extend offers to the Twins as well.” 

Jaime did not smile at that, “Father I do not seek war with half the realm. They may contest my rule now, but I believe in time, they will see. I do not plan to butcher the realm, I plan to bring peace to it, no matter how incredibly boring it will be, I.. I believe I know how.” Jaime finally got up and walked down the steps, gingerly. “Father, did you even look at the _bodies? Dead Starks everywhere”_

“No. I was concerned with you my son, you were in danger and my primary concern is that of the safety of my own son,” Tywin answered sharply. “You have two son’s Father, not just I,” Jaime said quietly.

Tywin pierced his son with a look then, the anger showing on his face, “I am well aware of that Jaime, thank you.”

Tywin walked away from his son, bathing in his own arrogance, and towards the closest body to the left of the Throne and Aerys. He turned him over and found that his arm did not turn or move but stuck out in an impossible angle. The sigil was covered in blood, caking by now, but Tywin was able to make out a human hand, coiled up in a fist, on a plain background, the color not very apparent, mixed with blood. Jaime’s voice broke the awkward silence, “Ethan Glover, big man. I'm pretty sure Lannister men freed him from the dungeons, ironically, the one’s that got past the City Watch anyway.”

Tywin stood himself straight and scowled, “Slynt did his new job well, and yet it seems the Dragons still held some influence over men who were too foolish and stuck in their ways. They are all dead now, the only Gold Cloaks of the City Watch that remain have bent the knee to the lion.”

Jaime walked over to the large grey cloaked body, nearer to Rossart then all the rest, “He gave me quite a thrashing, this one,” Jaime gave the lifeless body a kick with his boot to turn him on his back. “This one is part of the Northern clans of the snowy hills, Wull, Starks calls were. But...” Jaime looked to his father and then gestured to three bodies lying closest together, near the entrance hall to the royal quarters, where his men searched for Grand Maester Pycelle in his quarters.

“It was Howland Reed’s work after the Lannister men found us, those three,” Jaime explained while Tywin moved closer to examine the Lannister crimson cloaks of the dead men. “I was fighting young Mark Ryswell at the time, he was giving me a good fight actually, one on one, although that mattered little, as this was right after fending off that feral Wull clansman and Glover both. They came in, must have taken a glance, and tried to protect me. Only, their idea of protection seemed to be stabbing Ryswell in the back,” Jaime sighed, “Eddard Stark and Howland Reed slew the three men.” 

Tywin stood and now studied the room in it’s entirety, realizing what Jaime had just said, “Wait. Jaime the body that remains is of House Dustin. Stark and Reed are missing.”

Jaime looked down to the floor, “Yes, Father. They are gone, Stark, Reed, and Martyn Cassel. Reed knew the castle layout, who knows how, he and Stark have left through the Royal Quarters, gone.. and from all I could tell, ride non-stop to Robert Baratheon and his entire army.”

_More Madness after all this. Robert’s wrath is not a wise thing to fight against._

Tywin felt a familiar sense of disappointment as he tried to figure out what happened. “How did they escape?”

“I must have been immersed in the fight, but I can’t even remember, only I was always surrounded, but Cassel, Reed, and Stark never drew their weapons to attack. Stark had already mentioned how dishonorable the fight was, as Glover, Dustin, and Wull danced the dance with me. I was lucky and the late Lord Dustin fell within a few moments into the fight,” Jaime shook his head and continued exasperatedly, “the three of them, Stark especially, had half a dozen chances to finish me, but they didn’t. I expect it was rather hard on Ned Stark to watch and not take action to protect his bannermen. Shame his honor got in the way of that.”

Tywin was listening to his son, trying to figure out where Jaime’s head was at, but he was having trouble. His son was acting and talking unusually, and it was a worrying thing. 

Where the bloody hell is Pycelle? Wait, What did Jaime say?

“You said Stark, Reed, and Cassel exited through the Royal Chambers. That’s impossible! There is no exit that way.”

“No there is not, but, from the sound of it, Reed was very confident in his knowledge of the Keep, he mentioned an underway that connected all the levels of the dungeons, I think I was fighting Ryswell at the time.” Jaime winced as he walked over to the open doorway that led to the quarters. 

Tywin turned to his men who had accompanied him to the Throne Room, "Go all of you, to the Royal Quarters. Secure every room and find Clegane and Lorch, you'll find them where Aerys confined Lady Elia in the queens quarters."

 _Strange, him keeping Princess Elia there, he kept Lyanna Stark there a time I had heard._

Tywin turned to an officer wielding the sigil of Gold Lion on Crimson Field, “help my son to the Grand Maester’s Quarters and find the bloody man. You three with me, we search the rest of the rooms.” The officer handed the banner over to a soldier under his authority, walked over to lend Jaime a hand, but Jaime stopped him with a look and a raise of his arms. “There will be no need for that, I will go to him myself. Aide my father, in the search of other rooms.”

The lingering unasked question stayed rooted in the back of Tywin’s mind. How do I go about telling my son? “As you wish, let us pray that the Maester is only in hiding,” Tywin turned to his men and tilted his head towards the doorway to the Royal Quarters, “come.”

The royal quarters where the King resided was the furthest room from the Great Hall, past many stairs, the Maester’s quarters, and more stairs, where Jaime stopped and shuffled in, trying not to make noise, but Tywin saw his discomfort. He even tries to walk straight. Tywin smiled slowly and continued to the quarters that now belonged to his son. The great bed was the first thing Tywin saw, the sheets were crimson red and the blankets embroidered with silver and black jewels on red silk stuffed with cotton. The rest of the room, lightened by the many candles, revealed nothing either. The room was empty. 

“Check under the bed for any trap doors or exits, doors, anything.” Tywin walked to the windows and checked if there was any way they could have climbed down, doubting it, and his doubts were confirmed when he examined them for a second. The Tower of the Hand then. “There is nothing here, quickly, we go to the Tower of the Hand, you two, continue searching this room.”

Tywin was off, walking as quick as he could, but before he could move back down the stairs, a soldier called out from the King’s Quarters, “Lord Tywin, Lord Tywin. Oh Seven save us, he’s packed it all with it. _DON’T TOUCH IT. Stupid_ boy.”

Tywin found the officer who had been shouting kneeling over something, telling a soldier cradling his hand to wash it. Tywin looked at his hand, white as the moon, but with a dark greenish substance dripping pools of green plasma onto the lavish carpets below. Tywin grabbed hold of him, “Fool. Quickly bring the clay pot here, under his hand.” Tywin moved over to the bed and looked its great size over, “how many pots did you see?”

“My Lord, I believe the entire frame, must have counted twenty of these clay things under there.” 

_Aerys was more unstable than I thought possible._

“Madness, absolute madness. Alright,” Tywin pointed to the officer who had called him back, “you will stay here and guard these pots, Lord Sarwyck, you will go to the Guild of the Alchemists and question each man. You will find out which Alchemist is the most interested in aiding our cause. Kill the others, except those who know how to make the substance, keep at least one of the senior Guild members alive. The rest come with me to the Tower of the Hand.” Lord Alester Sarwyck looked uncomfortable with the command, but one look from Tywin’s piercing eyes and he formed up, “as you command, My Lord Commander.”

He walked out and to the stairs down, looking around and shaking his head about, as if to relieve a pounding pain in his head, trying to see clearly as he walked. Tywin looked to the men left with him and saw that Ser Gregor Clegane had joined them. His hands were unwashed, as Tywin saw to his own displeasure. Tywin watched as the suspicious glance The Mountain gave Lord Sarwyck spoke of unsaid thoughts. He looked to the rest of the men, “all of you meet me at the base of the Tower of the Hand, Clegane and I will be along shortly. Go.”

Tywin stood, back straight, until all the men had left the King’s Quarters, all the while, out of the corner of his eye, The Mountain heaved and breathed heavily, like an animal, beside him. The Mountains breastplate was gigantic and rattled to the rhythm of his breathing, Tywin didn't let his mild annoyance with the days events affect his tone when he spoke. “I hope the task has been handled with the care I would expect under my own rule, Clegane. I hope that your words will do nothing more but satisfy my expectations, and I know you will tell me all and tell it all now,” Tywin looked again downwards at those giant hands caked in dry blood. Not his own blood. “But before we speak of that, I couldn't help but notice the lingering look you gave Lord Sarwyck as he left to do the task I set upon him,” Tywin never lost eye contact with The Mountain, “What suspicions do you have on him?”

Clegane wasn't really looking at him, his eyes too bloodshot and strained, he looked like a wild giant who had not a shred of wit about him. “I've seen him talking in whispers with the older man, the one from the Battle of the Trident,” Clegane managed, as if he was suffering from a severe bout of constipation. Tywin glanced down once more at Clegane’s hands, the muck and blood drying now, stuck to the thick callous skin below. “I know who you speak of,” Tywin gave Clegane a look, it said more than the words. “ I had my own suspicions, he took down Rhaegar’s Vanguard with Robert, killed Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard. His name is Lord Westfold. He _spoke_ of his wishes to leave after the battle was won. A man named Petyr Baelish told me before Aerys opened the gates. He's a sharp one, Baelish” Tywin turned and took in the room as if he was seeing it for the first time. 

“The man is located exactly where I sent young Lord Sarwyck, ironically,” Tywin scoffed at the ceiling. “See to it right now.” Clegane turned to go but Tywin had unfinished business to discuss. “Clegane?” It was not a question. Clegane turned back and barely contained his eagerness to leave from his voice, “My Lord?” Tywin sat down on a cushioned armchair, one of two in the room, and leaned forward, “How did you finish the deed so quickly? I sent you to her chambers only after we had secured everything but the Keep. That was perhaps the beginning of the hour, a quarter of which you used to reach her chambers here, so tell me Clegane, did you do what I asked or did you fail? Uh? And you crushed some poor fools head to cover up your failure? 

Hmm?”

Clegane looked uncomfortable, but confident. “It was strange at first, she didn't even get up when I broke through the door, the babe sucking milk from those plump teats. I laughed at her first and snatched the boy and smacked his head across the wall. I thought it would take a few cracks to open the egg but the babes brain flew everywhere the first try.” Clegane could barely control his laughter as he attempted to continue but began wheezing with laughter. 

Tywin’s face was held tight as if someone held it from the back of his head. What a waste of conversation. This animal can't even hold himself up. “ENOUGH. Clegane.” He had raised his voice a tad, yet, already it lost it’s volume, but not it’s firmness. “What are you trying to tell me that has you so amused?” 

Clegane was steadying himself, wiping tears of laughter from his face with hands full of brains from a dead babe who would have been King. “It’s funny because she hardly moved, even after the babe’s brains and blood landed on her hair. Like she didn't even notice, her eyes facing the ground. She wanted me that bad, it seems. In fact, she hardly moved at all. Still as a statue, lying on the floor, didn't move an inch.”

She did not move, this does not sound like Elia at all. What happened to her before all this? 

A chill went through Tywin’s body, an unfamiliar feeling, “And .. tell me Clegane.. what did you do next?” Clegane didn't speak, not a single word, he just reached down and grabbed his cock, his face shaped in an ugly grin.

Tywin stood up.

“You raped her? And the moment you chose to do it was after the deed? Clegane, maybe, _JUST MAYBE,_ instead, you should have kept the babe’s brain intact, so I could give you what little I can for your utter ignorance. You _FOOL._ Couldn’t keep your appendages in check? Do you have a shred of wit in there or are you actually an animal, through and through?”

Clegane opened his mouth but Tywin gave him a look he had only given one other person in his entire life.

“No. You don’t speak. I will not have this getting out, if I hear this tale is anything other than you silenced the children and the mother without a brutish fashion, I will have your tongue out and nailed to your cock. Do you understand?”

Tywin was out of the room before he had finished saying the word understand.

Out in the hall, he breathed slowly and turned back towards the stairs that would take him back to the Great Hall. Tywin heard his son speaking with someone in low voices, in one of the larger bedrooms nearer to the Hall staircase. Pycelle. He would speak with his son alone and in private. There were royal functions to speak of and the War was finally at end. Much to do still. In spite of the problems, Tywin let a grin escape him. He was proud of his son, even if the circumstances were unideal. He moved to head down the circular stairs, down to the carnage of the Hall below when a loud angry shout made him turn back towards the Bedroom.

“Jaime?” It was a question.

He walked toward the room and entered, looking around carefully. His son was seated beside the bed, Pycelle standing behind him, looking over his shoulder at the bloody man lying on the crimson sheets beneath. Tywin didn't recognize him, but he was the one shouting the words, “Stark would have cut you down, he didn't kill you because he wasn't going to dishonour the King’s Hall with more blood. Lannisters sacking the city, madness all of it.” Jaime was sighing, already a battle struggling within him, Tywin moved towards the bed.

“Who is this, Your Grace.” _Maintain._

Jaime looked up, astonished, as if he forgot what his father looked like. “It turns out, my swordhand is quick but not the finish I had hoped.” It was a jest, but there was no effort in it, only a weariness. He stood up, “This is Lord Mark Ryswell, you may remember him father, from lying dead on the Throne Room floor.”

Tywin looked down at the mess of a man and turned to Pycelle, “He will live?” 

Pycelle bowed and wheezed, “Yes your grace, his only grievance is cuts, none of which are severe. He should be healthy again within the morrow.”

Tywin grimaced, “Good. Once Lord Ryswell is feeling better, put him in the dungeons, but the highest cells, the cleanest, we will await Lord Eddard to end this war once and for all. We will await Robert, but we will make Eddard Stark understand that the war has been won for his side.”

Jaime stood, the King who Killed the Dragon, and faced Tywin, “No Father. I am sorry but in this, I must make the choice. Lord Ryswell’s fate has given us… No. Given me a chance to make things right with Eddard Stark, and perhaps, the Great Robert himself. Lord Ryswell will not be put in a dungeon when he feels all the better, no.”

Jaime turned to the man lying in bed. “You may not like me Lord Ryswell, but I am King and after you hear my terms, I think that you will accept this new rise of power,” Jaime stepped toward the man, “You will be given the fastest horse in the city, with all the Seven Gods speeding your journey, you will ride for Robert Baratheon and stop him in his tracks. You will give him my terms and ask him to come to this city for a different reason than claiming the Iron Throne. He won the war when he killed Rhaegar, but I won the Throne when I killed Aerys the Mad. So, I want him to ride to King’s Landing in the stead of Eddard Stark, Hoster Tully, Stannis Baratheon, and Jon Arryn and all your men….and I want them to bend the knee to me as _Rightful King of Westeros.”_

It was the first time his son had ever told him, Tywin, what to do. But, Tywin could see something in Jaime's eyes, something that made him smile again. Bigger than with Jo. 

His son turned to move directly back to the Royal Chambers but before he got far, he turned back, “Oh and you can come along too Lord Ryswell, it would be a shame for you to miss a party.”


	6. Next Time on Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What comes next.

"Do you think it was wise, my King? Allowing him to escape out of our grasp like that?" 

"It was a calculated risk Cersei. I want Robert here. I want to see his face, see if it changed him. Ryswell will bring them here, I know it. But I need a peace now, while everything is done and well. While the common enemy stays the common."

"And if he refuses you and crushes your skull in with his Warhammer of his, what then Jaime? They stopped their rhythmic motions and the whole dance died. She climbed off him and lay on top of him with her chin resting just above his pubic mound. "What stops him from taking the Throne and whisking me away to be his woman?"

Jaime wasn't looking in her eyes, he watched the burning candles behind her and the magic it did to her bright blonde hair, She looked a goddess, more beautiful than any of the Seven. But her face was serious, he noticed then, trying to remember what she had just asked.

"Robert will not have this Throne, even if he gathers an army that can defeat us, he will not be able to defeat us." Jaime nodded subconsciously, but noticed the look of indifference on her face. "You don't seem to have much faith in the new King's words."

"Jaime, listen to me. He already has the larger army, he still has most of the realm behind him. We only have the Tyrells because they think Aerys is still alive and well."

"Which is why I wait. If the Tyrells might be defeated by confusion and lies, then that is one less Kingdom I must worry about. The Dornish only seem to care about Elia's fate, once I discover her location, I plan on taking her into my council, in place of Prince Doran's position. I hope this will ease trust with Sunspear and bring the Dornish to our cause."

Suddenly, Cersei was on her feet, her shapely breasts wiggling about as she walked to the end of the bed, looking around wildly, before turning back to face her King, Brother, and Lover. She had tears in her eyes. 

"It's not enough, Jaime. If the Tyrells are defeated, then Stannis and his entire army are ... like nothing ever happened. The Dornish are untrustworthy and you know that. That leaves the Iron Islanders and who in the bloody fuck wants to be allies with fucking Iron Islanders. Jaime, we are going to lose this war if you and father don't figure something out."

Jaime smiled a bright smile as a surge of emotion ran through his body, tiny hairs standing up as if he waited for this moment his whole life. He stood and got up off the bed and walked to Cersei's beautiful nude form. He put his hands through her hair, inhaled deeply and looked her in her eyes and spoke.

"Oh Cersei. You would hate to admit it, but I know the true men who saved the Lannister family today. A brave man and a smaller boy who both had parts to play. Tyrion and I talked for quite some time as you.."

Cersei interrupted him, "I know."

Jaime felt a bit of sourness add to the mix of emotion, her tone was unpleasant to the ear. "Yes, and it turns out, the little troublemaker has finally seen to use his rule breaking to our advantage."

Cersei looked at him curiously, "You see, Uncle Gerion, once finding out that his nephew was to be the one King of Westeros, he decided to hasten a trip he had been planning for a few years. He decided to leave early, taking the ship from Dorne only four days past." 

Cersei looked a bit hurt, "I didn't know Uncle Ger was planning to leave."

"I don't think he planned on telling anyone but father. Father didn't say anything, but he thinks its a fools errand. Uncle Gerion plans to retrieve the valyrian steel sword that belonged to the ancient house that became House Lannister. Wait Cersei, let me continue, " Jaime briefly paused, "The thing is, once Tyrion got drunk enough to decide to steal the letter from Fathers desk, once he learned it was from Gerion, well, he had quite a read and hastened to find me as soon as possible."

Jaime walked to the door and closed it shut. "It seems the House of Lannister has all the luck in the world and Robert will never defeat me and take the Iron Throne. Because I have something he desires more than a Throne or a beautiful wife, and I have it firmly in my grasp. He found them in Braavos, right before he was to board the ship to the Valyrian peninsula, a cloaked man holding a child with hair so bright, it almost looked silver, a bald child grasping for his hand as they entered a house with door painted red," Cersei seemed scared as she watched him then, "he shouted his house name after Gerion shoved a sword through his chest, "Darry."


End file.
